So Eh-net most graciously gifted me this Dee-brained space two years ago almost. Glancing thru its smooth new look I noticed that for two consecutive Octobers, I’ve not written anything. I’m trying to think of what may have prevented me from writing during that month.

This year, I know it’s ‘cuz I spent the whole time down in Vero, rotating management staff like my chair in the local Cracker Barrel. But last October? Hmmm…I’m gonna hafta put my head to this.

Ooohhhh…maybe some scandalous, sordid tale of debauchery? Yep. If not, I’m totally gonna make some shit up…Maybe I can sell it to finally pay Eh-net her yearly dues.

Stay tuned.

The Dlog has a new look thanks to Eh-net. I still don’t know if this will be what I settle on, but I can browse at my leisure and figure it out. At least I don’t have to bug my pal each time I feel compelled to add a photo or some lame link.

So…as we settle in to the shiny Christmas season…I’m settling in to my new shiny blog.

Peace on our bit of Earth.

My friend is in the hospital. She’s getting her gall bladder taken. Fine. Sure. This better be it. This better be the last of the Godamned bullshit. Enough already! Fuck, man. Let it go. Let her be. There’s no excuse for this travesty. Ah, but travesties avail. They permeate our skins and make us wonder why the fuck we were put here in the first place.
I want to take a hiatus from this blog. The blog which Eh-Net gifted me. No more writing. No more purging. No more obseqious ass kissing up to the powers that be. A strike of sorts. A picket line impenetrable.
Fair, you say. Fair, I say. Fair is a weather report. I don’t care. I want justice in this life. I want fair. I need fair. I thrive on fair.
Fair is what moves me through the day.
I’m not cut out for loyalty. I’m not a good friend. I’m afraid of the sticking around. But here I stand. The forces of this life make me stand glued in the face of sprinting far. But I don’t wanna. I want to take off. Run. I’m just not cut out for this sort of thing.
I’m not as brave as I look. I’m angry. I’m pissed off. I’m tantrum bound. I still believe in justice. I want to believe in fairness.
If God blesses everyone, then Eh-Net better be on the top of His friggin’ list.
She needs a miracle.
And for once…
…I have to admit that I’m just not it.

Holy shit, I love this word. Eh-net used it in her recent post. I laughed for 5 whole minutes. Yes, I’m a child.
I hate clowns. I find them to be scary. But assclowns? Does your mind too, conjour up images of the little rascals frolicking about in your ass? Big feet, red hair? Entertainment for the southern parts? Haha. My mind is sick. I’ll give you that. But the assclowns are sicker. Circling ’round Uranus. Can’t wait to call someone that. You wanna volunteer? I wonder if you hafta do something really stupid to have that name applied. I’m gonna go try it out on someone…
See ya, assclowns.
P.S. I bet 50 bucks no one will comment on THIS post, eh?

I love my tastebuds. They are one of my favorite humanistic gifts. They please me like almost no other part of me. I wouldn’t trade the other 4 senses for them, mind you. But they encompass so much of my life. My social skills, my culinary vocabulary. Everything, it seems, revolves around the next gathering of plates. And palates. My finicky fetishes are accomodated by a host of well-wisher. Food-pushers, as I like to call them. I can think of at least three off the top of my head that can cook their asses off. And one, in particular, whom should replace that spazoid Rachael Ray. She’d show her exactly where to stick her 30 minute meals.
Aaaahh…my tastebuds. I love you. Never leave me.

I’m listening to my Eh-Pod.
Schindler’s List.
The violin. This is more beautiful than any other instrument, jerks the tears out of my eyes.
We went there. Not back in time, but close.
The Holocaust museum in D.C.
We signed up early. Me, the uber-planner and strategist.
Good thing, too. It seems as though millions were eager to witness the unthinkable. The annihilation of a populus.
You cannot know how this experience has touched me. Touched me to my core.
There is no God big enough to be the cause of such misery and despair.
I saw it all. The whole nine yards. Did you know about the “shoe room?”
The room that had my stomach heaving. The room that made me run. It wasn’t at that moment that my compassion began.
I try to recall the exact moment. But it escapes my recollection…

(more…)

You can stand outside any given house on any given block on any given Saturday and speculate on the goings-on inside. The moon may be waxing or waning, the air may be cool or stifling. No matter. It is only when you are invited in that the thoughts that are mere silhouettes in your mind begin to form more solid shapes…

(more…)

Hey kids!
I just had the most pleasant evening. I invited a friend, (most aprehensively, I might add) to join me at an A.A. meeting. She agreed to go, despite her busy schedule. I’m always nervous about how people will react to their first meeting. I know how I reacted…back in 1990. It was quite a negative take that I had on the whole hour long affair. She seemed to be paying attention. But, this one is polite to a fault, you know. She could have been dreaming of her girl, Rachael, or perhaps wondering what time the damn thing ended. That’s the difficulty in mind reading. It’s best if I just don’t bother, eh? Anyway, we walked to and from the clubhouse and it was indeed a lovely evening for a stroll and a chat. We talked about different things. Comfortable, she is. Way too kind to be hangin’ with the likes of me. Perhaps my role in her life is to toughen her up. Teach her how to swing back. Be an asshole for once. Ok. Maybe not. Perhaps it’s the other way around. Maybe she’s here to teach me how to be kinder, gentler. God, I hope not. I’m too cute to be nice…

You know, I’m an ass. This isn’t a new revelation, just one that saddens me on this day. I’m a selfish, self-centered, egotistical, hedonistic ass. I’ve a million things to do…Laundry, cleaning the car, sending emails to those who’ve taken the time to email me, cricket fetching for the spider, dishes, general cleaning-out of miscellaneous papers and such, work commitees to conform to, teeth to brush, two suitcases in the living room to unpack, snail mail to respond to, and, of course, Hilly-yard to figure out. We had the day semi-planned. Me. Her. Together. But I guess she grew tired of laying on the sofa listening to me recite my day’s agenda…laundry, to start. She left. Off to the beach. Not to be held back by the immobility of my stacked mini-washer/dryer. Farewell, I says.
But I should have stopped her, no? Should have done the “upright and noble” thing and succumbed to her pleas. But, as I said before, I’m an ass. I just can’t get this giving thing that must occur in symbiotic relationships. I see people daily that impress the living shit outta me with their benevolance. Yet still, I’m an ass. My friend, (the Rachael Ray lover) makes me shake my head in amazement every single day that I know her. She is a walking icon of all that is right with this screwed-up planet. But still, I can’t get outside my miserable self long enough to act as if I’m worthy of her friendship. I’ll do what I do. Protect her from any perceived threats, foreign and local. Offer up my insufficient lame-ass services when she needs them. But, Geezuz, It’s getting so damn tiring to witness the piss that Gee O Dee spews upon the folks who deserve it least. Screw him. I’m an ass, yes. But so is he.